


Take Me With You

by loudle



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cheating, Cheating Louis, Famous Louis, M/M, Sad, Sad Ending, Sad Harry, normal harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 03:12:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5148146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loudle/pseuds/loudle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>L has H in the palm of his hand but does he even really want him there?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me With You

**Author's Note:**

> hi :) i actually wrote this piece as an assignment for my creative writing class!!! you may notice that i don't mention names and neglect to acknowledge the gender of the main character (Harry), so that explains it!!! (i go to a stuffy Catholic school. reluctantly, i just left out the gender pronouns.) hope you like it! i also hope that i get a good grade on this. I'll keep you up to date with that :)

"I miss you," he said through the phone, the sound grainy. I felt my eyes fill up with tears as he delivered the lie. I heard a female giggle faintly in the background, and my heart continued to tear apart at the seams.  
"I miss you too," I told the truth, because I did. I missed him. I miss him.  
"I have to go now," he told me, feigning a yawn. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly to restrict a stray tear from escaping as if he would know whether or not I cried. He didn't know me anymore and he didn't care. I don't know why I did so much; I guess I cared for the both of us. "I'm really tired," he toyed with my emotions. When did he forget how to tell the truth?  
"Good show tonight?," I asked him, tears beginning to crawl down my cheeks as I played along with his cruel game. Why did I play along? It was a vicious contest to see which one of us could hurt me more. I felt like by continuing to go through the motions, I was winning. Maybe if I won once and for all, we could call off the whole thing.  
“Yeah,” he confirmed with a sigh- he kept it no secret that I was nothing but a bother. “Copenhagen always has a good crowd.” I could picture his eyes in my mind: icy blue marbles that glowed in the dark, hidden behind the crinkles and laugh lines engraved into the corners. I did not see him smiling, though I tried; I had not been the object of his affection since the last time it was convenient for him.  
“I remember,” I said quietly, remembering a time when I would be there with him, watching him shine from the side of the stage, and he wanted me there. Now, even shedding a single beam of his glow through the phone sounded like a chore on his end. He sighed through the silence again.  
“Love, I really have to go,” he said impatiently, and I felt my throat closing, cutting off the painful breaths that I did not want to take anymore. “I’m sorry,” he offered an apology he did not mean.  
“It’s okay,” I assured him, though his insincerity only broke my heart over again.  
“Happy birthday,” he said in a soft voice, and for a moment, I almost believed that he cared enough to hope that I was truly happy. I snapped out of my fantasy just as quickly as I had submerged myself in its beauty; I couldn't afford to fall further in love with him.  
“Thank you,” I said as I wiped furiously at tears he couldn’t see, praying for my voice to stay even.  
“I love you,” he lied and I struggled to stifle a loud sob. I took a moment to compose myself as best as I could.  
“I love you too,” I told the truth, though I wished that I was lying. This was all a game to him- I was just a player on the opposing team. I wasn’t always an obstacle.  
“I’m sorry that I couldn’t be there today,” he acted as though he cared. I almost believed him, he really should've been an actor, before the female voice whined for his attention in the background. I shut my eyes tightly to keep my head from exploding.  
“Me too,” I said in a low voice. Neither of us spoke for a long time after that, sitting in silence; what do you say when the fourth wall breaks inside of the palace of lies you built out of broken promises?  
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, and I knew he meant for more than what was explicitly said.  
“Goodbye,” I ignored his apology only because I could feel that he meant it. If he wanted to play a game of lying through his teeth, I would play the part, for him. However, I refused to accept sincere apologies. “Sorry,” was not in my vocabulary anymore. Accepting his grievances was accepting my fate of living in the palm of his hand for the rest of my days. In the back of my mind, I knew that this was the way that I was to live, but knowing it and accepting it were two very different things. “Sleep well.”  
“I’ll try,” he vowed in a voice laced with some form of hesitance, like for the first time in awhile, he didn’t feel like hanging up. Was it guilt? I didn’t want his pity, I wanted his love.  
“Goodnight,” I said again, a teardrop causing a dark splotch to form on the blue duvet we once shared when we were just teenagers, and I was more than a burden to him. It occurred to me that I could not remember the last time he had slept next to me. My vision blurred with waterfalls restrained to my green eyes that had long ago faded to gray.  
“Goodnight,” he said, and before he could speak again, I ended the call. I dropped the phone onto my bed and felt all the blood in my body rush to my face as I finally let the broken sobs rack my body and reduce me to a crumpled piece of paper. It hurt to breathe before, but after hearing his voice, it always felt like broken glass slashing my insides with its sharp edges. I felt myself bleeding from the holes in my heart, filling my body up with metallic hopelessness that tinged my tongue with its tang.  
I remembered when he loved me, when he was present to show me so, and when I didn’t feel like I was dying each time I heard his voice or saw his face. The issue with that being the case now was that it seemed as though I could not step outside my door without seeing his face plastered across the tops of taxi cabs and billboards or hear his sweet voice calling out to me in trendy shops or on Top 40 radio. He could forget about me easily, but I could not open my eyes without meeting his.  
I wiped my eyes on the sleeves of my lavender sweater, turning the pale purple dark. I looked in my mirror and saw my green eyes rimmed with bright crimson instead of white, eyelids puffy and face a splotchy red. I would put on a mask to hide my fears, but I didn’t care. I was 21 and I was exhausted from this life in a way that I didn’t expect to feel for decades.  
I left my childhood room then, leaving my phone where it lay as it lit up with an incoming call that I did not answer. I descended the stairs to where my mother stood waiting for me with a cake in her hands and a wide smile. Her grin faded as she laid her eyes upon my tear-stained face.  
“What’s wrong?,” she asked, putting my birthday cake down on the coffee table, blowing out the flame that flickered atop the candle that said 21. She crossed the room to get to me, pulling my limp body into her arms. I let her hold me, my body slumped into her embrace.  
“I miss him,” I admitted, and this was not a lie. I missed him. I missed who he used to be, and I miss him with each agonizing breath that I take. I miss him everyday, and I will bet you any sum that I will miss him even more when he’s here than when he’s gone.  
I miss knowing the person that took me with him without taking me with him.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u to my special little friend: meatball, this is for u. thanks for urging me to post this!!


End file.
